Decapitation
by Joodiff
Summary: Also in response to the "kick-start the muse" challenge. Boyd/Grace. Enjoy!


**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing.

_(In r__esponse to a FB challenge.)_

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><p><strong>Decapitation<strong>

By Joodiff

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><p>"Doctor Foley," Boyd says gravely, "I'm not a forensic scientist, but as a police officer I think I can safely tell you that the victim has been decapitated."<p>

Surveying the crime scene, Grace nods slowly. "I think you're right, Detective Superintendent. And as an experienced criminal profiler, I think I can safely tell you that the perpetrator is a middle-aged white male with poor impulse control and borderline sociopathic tendencies."

"Oh, come on…"

"You'd like to challenge my professional opinion?"

"No, I'm simply registering a complaint against the term 'middle-aged'."

"Your objection is duly noted. You've never liked Derek, have you?"

Boyd, shirtless and slightly sweaty in the blazing afternoon sunshine, leans contemplatively on the handle of his spade. "I don't like the DAC, either, but I wouldn't deliberately decapitate him."

"Poor Derek," Grace says, gazing down at the thoroughly brutalised victim.

"Good riddance," Boyd mutters, just loudly enough to be overheard. Grace glares at him and he gives her a look that is saintly in its innocence. "What?"

"He was cute."

"'Cute'? Bloody creepy, more like."

"Ah ha. Motive, Boyd."

"It wasn't even manslaughter, let alone murder. Death by misadventure."

"You took his head off with a spade!"

He shakes his head. "No, my spade was merely travelling at speed in the victim's general vicinity."

"Tell it to the judge."

"Hang on, I haven't been charged with anything yet. And if you're arresting me, Grace, I want my phone call."

-oOo-

"Definitely decapitated," Frankie confirms, studying the victim's multi-coloured remains under the bright glare of a laboratory-grade lamp. "And with considerable force, too."

"Considerable force," Grace echoes, just a touch smugly. "And the weapon?"

"Is definitely this spade. There are minute traces of green paint present that are consistent with the victim's… appearance."

"Consistent," Grace says, looking at Boyd, who is leaning insouciantly against one of the lab's examination tables.

Frankie looks up, her gaze moving from Grace to Boyd and back. "I can't prove intent."

"Don't worry, you don't need to."

"Is there anything else?" Frankie asks pointedly. "Or shall I stop buggering about now and get on with some real work…?"

"Doctor Wharton," Boyd says. "I'm shocked by your cavalier disregard for the feelings of the… next-of-kin. 'Buggering about', indeed."

"It had to happen eventually," Frankie murmurs under her breath. "They've both finally gone stark raving mad. God help us all."

"_Folie __à__ deux_," Grace supplies helpfully. "Can I take Derek's remains?"

"Be my guest," Frankie says with a shrug, and she is shaking her head as she turns away.

-oOo-

"You're not getting round me that easily," Grace says firmly, much later. Though, truth be told, he probably could. Almost certainly could, in fact. However heinous his crime.

Boyd buffets her gently with his shoulder as they walk across the car park. "I'll buy you dinner."

"No."

He blinks, surprised. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Grace says as solemnly as she can manage. She watches his expression change from surprise to a frown to incredulity. It amuses her. A lot. Patently, he simply can't reach a reliable conclusion as to whether she is genuinely upset with him or not. And an off-balance Boyd tends to be a malleable Boyd. Pressing home her advantage, she says, "Not only have you managed to decapitate poor Derek, you've totally ruined my garden."

"That's a bit harsh, Grace."

"It looks like the Somme. I wanted a small, tranquil water feature and I get utter devastation. I knew letting you loose with a spade was a bad idea. You never do anything by halves do you, Boyd?"

He smirks at her. "Never. As you well know."

"Oh, stop it. Go home. Watch the football, ring your poker buddies, or do whatever else it is you do when you're not making my life twice as difficult as it needs to be."

They stop by their cars and for a moment they simply regard each other in neutral silence. Teasing him is a little like bull-fighting, Grace thinks – exciting and dangerous. But probably not quite as morally reprehensible. And it's still quite clear that he really doesn't know if she's serious or not. She likes that tiny touch of naïveté in him – just the knowledge that he can occasionally be so ingenuous makes his bombastic self-confidence just a little easier to bear. One day, she thinks, she will haul him up the aisle – inevitably kicking and screaming in protest – and put a ring on his finger. But not on any day soon.

He tilts his head to one side, unconsciously engaging. "A small, tranquil water feature?"

"Yes. To sit and drink wine next to in the evenings."

"All right."

Really, he's a pussycat. She smiles at him. "Thank you."

He deploys the angelic smile. "Can I come home with you?"

"If you must."

"You know you love me really."

She does. Of course she does. "Get in the car, Boyd."

They drive north, the summer sun just starting to set over the city.

Grace says, "What about Derek?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Boyd says, lounging in the passenger seat. "If you're really that bothered, I'll buy you another garden gnome. Bloody horrible creepy things."

Game, set and match to Doctor Foley.

– the end –

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><p><em><strong>Challenge rule<strong>__**s:**__ WtD, 1000 words max, must contain the words "green", "lamp", "north" and "gnome", and no smut!_


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